Your Final Breath
by thewaywelivenow
Summary: After suffering at the hands of an unknown spell, Harry Potter lies unconscious in hospital. This story is about Ginny’s hope that he will wake up and come back to her.


**A/N:** _Thanks to apollo13 who beta-d this for me! Also, I wrote this to see if i could write something that would make me cry but it failed!_

I lay there, listening to the steady sound of your breathing. My eyes scan your pale face and I realise just how lucky I am to claim that I love you. I sigh and wonder if you could ever love me with the same intensity I do you. I want to reach out to you, brush the stray strand of red hair that curls against your cheek behind your ear. I don't. I dare not awake you and destroy the spell that has encapsulated you in a peaceful dream, instead I lean back and let my eyelids close and my mind wander.

Even when sickly, you are beautiful, I thought as I'd entered our room. You were propped against a mountain of cream cushions, a flowered tray on your lap filled with soup and water, and, even though you felt awful, you were wearing an earnest smile that I knew you meant. My little fighter. As a small cough escaped your mouth, your hand reached for me and I came to your side, holding your soft hand in mine.

You couldn't speak, your throat too inflamed so a quill and piece of parchment lay next to you, upon which, as you held the parchment up I saw, you had written the words 'the dresser'. I crossed the room, looked upon the wooden surface of it and picked up a small book. An aged book you had bought long ago. I picked it from its place and came to sit next to you on the bed. I opened it carefully and after glancing at you, I read the first page aloud:

"Day eighty three: The final day, it went something like this." Your diary, your most prized possession you had let me read only once before. I felt privileged, honoured that you would let me back into the magical world of your past. I knew what the page would read and why you had instructed me to read it to you. I could never be him.

"The bed was cold, that I vividly remember. The harshness on my skin was meant to awaken me but how could I have drifted into sleep? I had stayed awake since I had got there, my hand clasped tightly in his, eager to never let go. I could feel the blood rushing away from within my hand to other, more needy parts of my anatomy but still I could not let go. I knew the warm of my hand and the realisation that I was here that it brought were the only thing keeping him from letting his grasp of this world loosen forever. I would not let go, I could not.

"The room was bare, except for the bed, a large light hanging from the ceiling at the centre of the room and the chair I had spelled out of thin air. As the room was small and the walls painted off white, it gave me the impression of being enclosed in a tiny prison whose walls were moving steadily inwards. The feeling of being claustrophobic however, did not stop my vigil.

"He looked so calm, so peaceful, lying there. It had made my eyes well up at the sight. It was hard to look at him in a strange way, for what sort of person would wish to interrupt his slumber? Was I monster for wishing to tear him away from the land his thoughts and dreams were now in? His face drew no frown, no furry of a brow, no sign of emotion, not even a slight smile.

The healers could not do anything for him, that was what they had told me. They had looked at me, clutching his hand as though frightened to let go, and one had said, "I'm sorry, we've tried everything, there's nothing we can do for him. I'm so sorry."

I had grown angry at them then. Her being sorry was not going to bring my husband back. For what was magic if it could not save those it condemned to death?

"Sorry?" I had shrieked. "I don't care if you're sorry just, please, bring him back to me."

She had taken note of the red blotches of anger on my cheeks and my blazing eyes and had touched my shoulder. Speaking to me softly as though trying to calm a young child, she said, "There's nothing we can do, we can only guess when his end will come."

I'd choked at that. The healer had ripped from me something I couldn't place until later. It was with a surge of feeling that I looked upon his face. I shook my head gently. No scar nor scratch was to be seen on his pristine face. How could looks be so deceiving? How could his face bare no sign of the fight his body was internally loosing, one that would decide his life's fate? I placed my fingertips on his cold cheek and let them slip down his face. Hold on, I thought, please hold on just a little longer. I let out a strangled sob and moved my hand from his face. Instead, I leaned under his bed and picked off the floor a pair of round glasses. I rested the curved bottom of each lens in one hand and carefully placed them on the top of his nose, making sure the strips of metal that came from them rested behind his ears. I bit my lip slightly and smiled for the first time since I had arrived at the hospital. There he was, my Harry.

He looked nearly the same as he had ten years ago, when he had first pressed his lips against mine and kissed me fiercely in the Gryffindor common room. His hair was now showing signs of greying slightly and very faint, almost invisible lines had appeared around the edges of his eyes and mouth but he still held that air of courage that had first attracted him to me. His green eyes, when open, still shone with hope and a determination that evil would never prevail. His hair was still unmanageable, shooting out in all directions, in fact, I realised, I still thought him perfect.

I took his hand in mine once more, feeling the softness of his calloused skin and stroked it softly with my other hand. I leaned forward in my chair and gazed at the face of the man I loved so dearly and began my promises.

"I know we always talked of a family." I told him, "When you wake up, we can start it." My face began to light up. "I know you always wanted twin girls so we'll have those… and a boy!" I exclaimed. "We'll name of the girls Lily, after your mother and one of them Molly, after mine. We could name our son," I paused as I wracked my brain for names. "… Mark, Mark Potter and when you wake up we can choose all their middle names. We could live in a little white cottage in Hogsmead with a winding garden path that leads to a large gate. We could have a garden of flowers and honeysuckle that climbs the shed door. In the summer, there could be a swing made from the branch of large tree at the bottom of the garden that the children could take turns to push each other on. And in the winter, we could all huddle inside and drink mugs of steaming hot chocolate and one of the girls will complain that it's too hot and moan that she wishes it was cooler. After you come home from work, all the children will rush up to you screaming and demand you hug them. You'll pick them all up in your arms and swing them around and they will giggle madly. I'll come out of the house and look at the four of you and think one thing; that our family is complete." I smiled sadly and said, "We can have that," then, more quietly so my voice was almost a whisper I muttered, "You just have to wake up first."

Suddenly, his eyelids fluttered slightly and I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief and happiness. I wanted to scream until my lungs burst and laugh like I had never done before. I screamed excitedly for a nurse and let an aching grin wash over my face.

A nurse I had not seen before entered the room. She was blonde and wore an expression of annoyance.

"He's waking up!" I screamed, leaping from my chair.

"What?" asked the nurse, confused.

"His eyelids fluttered." I felt so light, so light I knew I could probably fly if I wanted to.

The nurse, instead of sharing my merriment looked at me sadly, her earlier expression wiped and instead replaced with one of pity.

"I'm sorry Mrs Potter," she said softly. "That doesn't mean he's going to wake up."

"What do you mean?" I shrieked. Could this woman not understand that my husband had shown signs of movement, he was coming back to me! How could someone so clever be so obtuse?

She walked up to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. "His eyelids fluttering are only reflex twitching."

"But…" I trailed off.

The nurse shook her head sadly.

I sat back down on my chair, stunned. I covered my face in my hands and the nurse patted me gently on the shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, I have to go now but if you need me, or anyone, come to the main desk." She said this gently and then left me, closing the door behind her.

I had been so sure he was going to wake up. Something, deep inside of me told me it could happen, that he would dazzle the healers and return to me. No, No, I thought, you're not going to take him away from me again. I wouldn't let them. 'He will wake up' I kept telling myself, hoping rather then believing my own words. 'He will'. I reached out and clung onto his hand, desperate to transfer some of my living energy into him. 'You can do it, please wake up'. His body was still, and as I took in his lean form I broke down into rushing tears. I couldn't help it, I felt overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I felt that if he breathed his final breath, I would die too. Something was squeezing at my heart, its grasp growing tighter with every minute, I felt as if I could no longer take this. My eyes hurt with tiredness and I was weak as I had not eaten in days. However, I realised, I could never give up on him. I wiped my eyes and tried not let any more tears escape them.

I looked down at his chest to comfort myself by seeing its slight rise and fall. "Harry?" I screamed. "Harry?" my voice grew my frantic, his chest was no longer moving. "Harry!" I shook his shoulders and resisted the urge to slap his face. "Harry!"

A healer heard my calls and rushed into the room. She ran up to Harry's bed and after furiously checking his breathing passages, she looked sadly at me.

I screamed, my chest constricting. "No, no, no." I said weakly, my voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry-" A healer began.

"No!" I screeched. Then I gripped his hand tighter in mine and said through my tears, "Come on, don't be silly, don't scare me like this, I know you can wake up, I know it."

"Mrs Potter-"

But I wasn't listening. My whole concentration, my whole being was focused on one thing. Willing him to survive.

"Please," I murmured into his ear. "Please." My nose was running and tears were streaming down my face but I did not care. I was choking, breathing heavily. My lungs could not take in any oxygen but I didn't feel the panic I should have done. "I know you can do it, you've faced worse than this."

"Can't you do something, anything?" I screamed desperately to the healer.

"No, he's d-"

I cut her off with my scream of anguish. I couldn't let her say the word, then it would really be true.

I gazed back down at his face, so perfect, and I let my fingers run through his raven hair. "No." I whispered. They would not destroy my hope, not this time. "Harry please, just wake up, show them they're wrong."

"Mrs Potter, I think it might be best if you stepped away from the bed."

I whipped my head around to stare at the healer furiously. "What?" I said angrily.

She stepped forward. "I think it might be best if you-"

"What are you talking about?"

"He's dead, Mrs Potter, dead."

"What? No he's…" My face drooped and I suddenly felt I was in a dream. A dream where none of this was real. A dream where I could see my Harry's face grinning brightly at me, his arms outstretched to envelope me into a hug. I was in a state of perpetual shock and as my wide eyes gazed upon his face I remember feeling numb, almost as if my body wasn't there.

The healer had somehow walked to my side. "Is there, is there anything you'd like to say to him?" she asked gently.

I looked sharply up at her. I realised I was still holding his hand, although my grip had become so fierce knuckles were now white. I stared down at his hand and smiled a bittersweet smile. "I'm in love you," I mumbled, my voice protesting at talking.

Another healer came into the room, how he known to come, I do not know. He held a large, pale blue sheet in his hand. He walked over to me and motioned for me to move. I placed Harry's hand next to his body on his bed. I stepped away from the bed and the healer gently placed the sheet over Harry's forever soundless, sleeping form.

After the two healers had left, I walked to his bed in a strange state of un-attachment I had never felt before.

"How could you do this?" I asked him. "How can you leave me?" I paused to catch the breath that was coming out of lungs in gasps. "I love you so much," I told him. "I really do, "I wiped my red eyes again and began to feel the start of a thumping headache. "You know when two people just…fit? That was us."

I looked at the outline of his body. I saw how where his nose was, the sheet went up slightly and how it had not entirely covered Harry's wayward hair. I stifled a sob and continued to stare at the form of my lover, my soul mate and, above all, my best friend.

I leaned forward. "I'm sorry," I whispered where his cold ear would be, my voice barely audible. "I couldn't save you." That was when I allowed myself to break down entirely, for my face crumple with grief and great, streaming tears run down my face."

I finished my reading. I looked over to your warm bed and saw your face, defeated with silent tears. I looked back down at the old diary and I realised something I had never let myself admit. I hated Harry Potter.


End file.
